


In This Body, You Will Never Love Me

by KomaruNaegi



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Bodyswap, Crushes, Lots of Gay Thoughts, M/M, Spoilers, Vomiting Up Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomaruNaegi/pseuds/KomaruNaegi
Summary: His mind wanders to Momota again, that bastard. He thinks of how he must hate him, because all he ever does is skirt around the truth and giggle. Ouma doesn't hate Momota - he thinks he's a great guy, even if he is an archetype. He just hates that he's tainted what his heart has latched onto so desperately. He knows he's fallen and yet his heart still surprises him, because he's possessive of a guy he'll never have, or deserves to have.He wonders what he'd do if he had Momota's body for a day.Heavy Spoilers for Chapters 1 and 2, implied spoilers for later chapters. This work takes place during Chapter 3.





	In This Body, You Will Never Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Heavy Spoilers ahead!**
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> Please leave a kudos if ya like this :>

With Toujou gone, breakfast is considerably harder. Gonta is trying his absolute hardest to prepare something for everybody, but a few of them still find themselves going to the refrigerator and pulling out Monokuma's shitty excuse for a Lunchable.

The dead ones still exist in their heads like phantoms, and it brings them all down. Sometimes someone will feel a brush against their leg and turn down as if Hoshi was there, even if he was never the of person to do that sort of thing. Angie starts wearing Amami's bracelets - she's gone as far as naming them, too. Saihara can be found in Akamatsu's laboratory, weeping lightly, playing "Mary Had A Little Lamb" with a singular finger because that's all he knows. Mary and her lambs are the closest he can get to what once was Akamatsu.

When they're not debating memory lights and escapes and God, they're often silent, the air of death murky as it hangs on them all. At times some find themselves bursting into tears - it's all too real, but it just never seems to stop.

Momota sits at the back of the table - Saihara to his left, "Harumaki" to his right. The sight of those three makes him feel disgusted - maybe even sickly. They all know she's an assassin, a very obvious threat, and yet Momota's treating her like a best friend. But what angers him more than those two is Saihara, who's practically third-wheeling the whole charade. He keeps giggling and smiling and enjoying the company of those two loons, and it makes him sick. It makes him sick sick sick, and he's sickly tired of watching someone so interesting become so boring and mundane. What does Momota Kaito have to offer anyways - that jacket? He can't even wear the damn thing right, seeing as he only keeps one of his arms in it. And Maki Harukawa is likely to snap one day and tear his neck off with no remorse because she "loves Momota" - that or something equally heterosexual, equally boring.

Okay - he didn't _hate_ heterosexuals. But he's seen the damn "killing for love" thing so many times, and it makes him roll his eyes because it's so predictable and _stupid_.

Mentally, he knows the second he starts falling for the detective, and damn is he falling fast. Too fast for his own liking, too fast for him to control it. He paces in the patches of floor his feet can reach in that cramped and crowded room he's been given, and he thinks. He just walks and thinks, thinks of hypotheticals, and of ideals.

He looks at the white board for a moment where he's pinned everyone's pictures. In an impulse, he finds himself taking them all down, lazily throwing headshots and letting them land on the floor without a care. He uncaps the marker, reveling in the little click it makes as the cap is released and his thoughts formulate. The thoughts go from his head and into his arm, and end up becoming a sloppy doodle of him and Saihara holding hands. Ouma tries to get the hands right again and again, but he can't, and he thinks of Angie for a brief moment, wondering how the hell she manages to draw them. He's never even seen any of her work. _What a sham_.

He goes with circular hands. They're not realistic at all, but they get the point across. He goes up to Saihara's head and draws the strand of hair, having it curl in a heart shape in the end. He likes to think that on this board, he and Saihara exist in a realm in which they're both pining for each other - they're both lovestruck fools on a mental honeymoon, basking in love's sakura-petaled purity. They're giggling and holding each other and Saihara dots kisses on his forehead, and he keeps saying over and over that he loves Ouma-kun, and Ouma knows that pansy of a boy can't lie correctly even if he tried with all his might.

His mind wanders to Momota again, that bastard. He thinks of how he must hate him, because all he ever does is skirt around the truth and giggle. Ouma doesn't hate Momota - he thinks he's a great guy, even if he is an archetype. He just hates that he's tainted what his heart has latched onto so desperately. He knows he's fallen and yet his heart still surprises him, because he's possessive of a guy he'll never have, or deserves to have.

He wonders what he'd do if he had Momota's body for a day.

The idea absolutely fascinates him, and not because Momota's way bigger than he is. It's of the closeness that he shares with Saihara - a relationship he's envied ever since it began. Momota is just naturally clung to Saihara - they're practically dating as is. When Saihara forgets to wake up, Momota's there to fetch him. When Momota is too stupid to analyze a situation, Saihara does it. Maki tags along for the training and all, but Momota and Saihara work so well as a duo that it makes his blood boil and he wants to puke it all up, because he wants Saihara to be his. He was a gay little kid and he's still gay now and he accepts that. He loves boys because they're pretty and fun to tease and girls just never gave him the same thrill. He'd had a crush on Amami (and he is looking forward to stealing the statue from Angie's lab when he has the chance), and at least thought every other boy (even Momota) was cute in their own way. But something about Saihara especially - the way his hair rests on his head, that cowlick of his, the way he gets flustered even when that damned Momota pats him on the back, the way he can sift through all his lies but is too damn sweet to pin him down for the evil he's brewing. He loves Saihara, so, so much, and it's becoming his undoing.

He doesn't think with his head for a moment, but rather with his feet, as he tip-toes around the crowded, dusty floor with poise, and shuts the door to his room behind himself quietly. He's not actively thinking in the moment, analyzing like he tends to, but rather thoughts come to him in blurry bubbles, floating as he carries himself down the hall. His hands fold behind his back without him thinking, and his steps turn to strides as he picks his feet up in a rhythmic pattern - _one, two, one, two_.

He finds himself at Yumeno's dorm not long after, not even able to remember walking there. He stands for a moment, wondering how far he's tumbled down the rabbit hole, and if there's any way he can manage to pull himself out of it. A shake of his head dismisses the thought, because he has a boy he has to chase, and he's going to use another more boring boy to do it.

He presses the bell of the "mage's" dorm thrice - this is terribly important, he thinks. Ouma knows the girl behind the door is the same way he is - and that is a homosexual. She hasn't been hit with it yet, but he knows the way she looks at Tenko's face for seconds at a time, the way she tightly holds Angie's hand, the way she starts to fall asleep whenever Momota starts to go on one of his tangents. He can sense that Tenko's reached her limit, he can smell the air of death when she passes, and all he can do is help Himiko's little gay heart through the inevitable heartbreak.

He's so far down the tracks of his train of thought that he barely notices the "Naa?" that comes from the other side of the door. He had expected this outcome - after all, he's spent hours upon hours at the "drawing board" working out ways that each of them could be killed, and, as he had hypothesized, Yumeno isn't the kind of person who would open the door right away. He is proud of Yumeno for that - even though it's likely out of laziness, opening the door right away in this school of all places would be a deadly move.

"It's Ouma!" he chirps, rocking back and forth on his feet. He has to focus on the world in front of him now, instead of analyzing it. He's used to putting on a show, he's used to being a puppeteer. But here he's making a move that not even he could have predicted, a move that might even backfire. Life is his game of chess, and he has many pawns - but he does have to move them correctly. He will end up in bloody water if he isn't careful.

"Whaddya want?" Yumeno groans, and Ouma can only assume she's still in her bed, eyes closed as she tries to fight the state of wakefulness.

"Can I have a favor? I need to borrow your magic!"

Having said the "magic words," (he mentally laughs, because not even he can pass up such a good pun) the door swings open, revealing Yumeno in wrinkled clothes. She blinks, mouth curled as it always is, but it almost feels like a scowl.

"I have a great little trick I'd like you to perform!" Ouma giggles. Both mentally and physically, he smiles - he's such a good actor.

"Umu.... I guess..." Yumeno mutters, putting her fingers to her mouth as she lets out a yawn. Ouma blinks, clenching his teeth to avoid yawning himself. He's wide awake, but he can't deny that yawns are contagious.

"It'll take a lot of mana, y'know," Ouma starts. Strategically, he switches his position, looking to his hand in a way that both looks smug and despondent, staring off into his palm. "I'm not one for cheap tricks."

"You're such a pain..." Yumeno groans. She scratches a finger at her cheek, before moving her hand to rub her eyes.

"Okay, I'll take that as a yes!" Ouma replies. Yumeno continues staring, unamused.

"I need to switch bodies with Momota-chan for a day!"

Yumeno cocks a brow. He knows he's caught her off guard.

"Why's that...?" she asks curiously. Ouma can feel the aura of her sleepiness on his fingertips, because the way she says it feels less tired and more curious. It's also not an outright "no," which is the thing he least wants right now.

"I need to be closer to Saihara-chan!"

Yumeno tilts her head. "Then why not take his body...?"

He'll admit that he hadn't thought of that. One point for Yumeno.

"No, no, no, that'll scar poor Saihara-chan!" Ouma grumbles childishly. "I need to be Momota-chan!"

Yumeno closes her eyes for a moment. She opens them briefly, as if to make sure Ouma's still there, before closing them yet again.

"Normally, I'd only do such high level magecraft for a high fee," she begins, taking a pause, "but, because you're such a dunce, I'll let you have it for free."

"Yumeno-chan, you're the best! I love you!" Ouma squeaks, wrapping his arms around her. Her face flushes, grumbling in protest as she pushes the ruler away from her.

"Make sure you don't tell Momota what's up."

Ouma nods.

"I need a recharge in order to do that, so I'm gonna take a nap... I'll do it later."

"Good night, Yumeno-chan!"

He keeps the goofy grin up even as Yumeno's door slams in his face.

Back in his room, he finds himself at the drawing board. He puts a line in the middle - the left hand has the doodle of him and Saihara he'd made earlier that day, and the right is blank. His head sways from side to side - _one, two, one, two_. He looks at the doodle, and then closes his eyes, again imagining himself holding Saihara's hand. The image, albeit only mental, makes him giddy.

Right, right. He opens his eyes, and blinks them a few times in rapid succession. He has to get ready for tomorrow. He feels under his scarf, untying the dainty little knot that he's tied on the very front of his neck. He curls the scarf up in a little ball, tossing it to the floor - he has several copies, after all.

He has to make this go absolutely perfect. If he assumes Momota's body but neglects the personality, people will know that something is amiss. People can sense those sort of things. At least, he knows Saihara would, because Saihara can solve mysteries. He can't on his own, and it always takes a bit of his help, but in the end he gets it, and he's the one who leads them. Ouma Kokichi is not a leader in this school, but Saihara is. Ouma wishes to be his second-in-command.

He shakes his head again - back to the drawing board, to Momota. Momota uses the same first-person pronoun he does - "ore" - but he writes down the katakana on the board nonetheless.

He has to think for a moment when it comes to referral of others. What does he use again? Ouma himself uses "kimi" but he's never heard Momota say it. "Kimi" is much too gentle for Momota, who pulls the galaxy in his wake. "Kimi" is not for a person who dives headfirst into their actions without thought. He goes with "teme" as his best guess, and writes the characters on the board.

He knows that Momota gets special privilege. Besides Angie, he's the only one who gets to call him "Shuuichi." Shuuichi is such a beautiful name, or at least, he's associated it so much with a beautiful boy that he, in turn, has associated it with being beautiful. The name rolls off the tongue, both literally and figuratively. He says the name a few times, in his own voice, noting that soon that voice will likely be stripped from him. His voice is like satin, while Momota's is like crisp fabric-store cotton. Uniform cloth. Like one of those cheapy cosplays you buy in the mail.

(He wonders why he knows anything about cosplay. He puts a dot on Shirogane's nose, as if that'll clue him in on something later.)

Back to the drawing board. He has pronouns lied out, both for the self and others. "No honoriffics," he scribbles down. "Harumaki" comes with it, and god, does he think that nickname is gross. Springroll. What in God's name is a Springroll? Spring is beautiful, but what the fuck does it have to do with rolls? Is Maki going to "Rolling Girl" down that grassy knoll behind the school? Good for her, he thinks. Good for her.

"Nothing's impossible until you make it impossible!" he shouts at the top of his lungs. He clenches his teeth with every syllable, punching his fists together as he says the final word. He knows somebody might hear him, but he doesn't care, because if anybody wants to kill him they're gonna have to pick the lock. He knows how to pick locks himself, and he's so goddamn underweight that he could slide through the vents with relative ease. Today is the one day he cannot die.

"The only frontier lefhuaUUAOH-" he starts, only to catch himself mid-yawn.

He jumps onto his bed, which he hasn't made in days (Toujou-chan, I miss you, he thinks for a moment) and snuggles into the stiff, paper sheets, rubbing his fingers along the creases, laying out his scarf with his other hand as a blanket to protect him.

He's covered in sweat.

He opens his eyes and blinks, looking at the ceiling. He feels some light, the smallest bit, tug at the edge of his field of view.

Glow in the dark stars. There's little green speckles lining the sky - plastic glow in the dark stars arranged in some pattern he feels is intentional, but looks unintentional.

He brings a hand to his chin.

He's Momota.

_He's Momota!_

He's Kaito Momota, even famous in space!

It worked. Holy shit, it worked.

He lets out a scream.

That is Momota Kaito's voice. He is Momota Kaito.

He puts a hand to the top of Momota's chest, just below the collarbone. Drawing a finger down, he traces Momota's slightly toned abs. He presumes he exercises sometimes - not every day, but sometimes. He keeps dancing a singular finger along Momota's skin, going from finger to nail as he slides it along the collarbone. His finger ice skates stars and ships on Momota's stomach, which is in much better condition than his. It doesn't cave in like his does, it's nice and has some resistance. His finger stops for a moment.

Momota's an outtie. He doubts that's information he'll need later, but he makes mental note of it anyway.

As his thoughts float in oort clouds and bright, iridescent comet tails, he finds himself falling back into a deep slumber.

His doorbell rings twice.

He groans, debating whether he should bother getting up. Considering he's Momota now, there's a 50/50 chance as to who's behind the door. If his luck is good, it's Saihara-chan. Shuuichi, he says to himself, mentally, in his best Kaito Momota impression. There are no honoriffics today.

The bell rings again. Well, it ain't Saihara.

"What," he groans, his voice like sandpaper.

"It's breakfast," Harukawa mutters in a monotone, emotionless like always.

Ouma decides this'll be mildly fun.

In a snap decision, he stumbles over to the door, scratching his head, noting that he has not done his hair (he doesn't know how, but he'll figure it out).

He prepares a yawn as he opens the door.

Maki Harukawa looks at him for a moment, before her face flushes this violet crimson that isn't quite unlike blood. Her teeth clench as the door is slammed in his face, hitting him square on the nose. He giggles, half because Maki Harukawa is stupidly predictable, and half because his nose stings a little and he'd rather ignore it.

"At least put some clothes on!" she grumbles, and he hears what he thinks is her stomping off.

Putting on the clothes takes a good 4 minutes, styling the hair takes thirty.

He slips on the galaxy-print slippers thoughtlessly, again letting his feet carry him rather than his mind. He stumbles a bit, because his soul is used to inhabiting a fun-sized body, and now it has way more room to spread out. He spends a few minutes pacing in the dormitory, trying to adjust himself to a set of legs much lankier than the ones he knows. He falls on his face once or twice, but all it will give is a few bruises, and he's experienced much worse. He hobbles his way over to the school building when his focus finally returns.

He lazily wanders into the cafeteria, not bothering to make a greeting. His body's there, staring at his all wide-eyed. He figures he should rename himself for the time being - he'll be "Kaitokichi," and the other will be "Oumota."

A snarl escapes his mouth as he eyes Oumota's plate. It's pulled pork. What is he, a fucking idiot? His profile says right there that he doesn't like pig's feet, so if he wants to be suspected, he's doing a fantastic job.

"Ain't ya allergic to pork er somethin'?" he grumbles, looking at the meal Oumota had fixed himself. It's so meaty, and there's an actual, healthy amount of food there: something he swears he never eats himself.

"Oh, Momota-kun! Good morning!" Gonta cheers, a bright and stupid smile at the edges of his face. "Gonta thought you'd gotten sick and wouldn't come, so he's very glad you made it!"

Harukawa rolls her eyes from afar, and Saihara gives him a wave. His heart skips a beat, and he can't even control it. He's drowning because Saihara just gave him a friendly gesture which he normally never gets, and he wishes he could scoop the boy up in his arms and give him a kiss on the forehead.

He wobbles all the way to the fridge, pulling out some frozen yogurt. He fumbles around the drawers for a spoon, and takes it between his teeth. The lid comes off with ease, and he dips the spoon inside, smiling as the taste of vanilla graces his tongue. He unceremoniously returns, plopping down between Harukawa and Saihara with no questions asked.

Oumota gives him this distressed look. He guesses that's to say something like, "are you really gonna make me eat that?" and he can't help but giggle, even if it's only mentally. He shovels more and more into his mouth, before Oumota lets put a groan of defeat, burying his head in his arms.

"Ouma-kun, what's wrong?" Saihara asks. Kaitokichi looks at him for a second, because that's all he can without being creepy, and he looks at the gray-gold eyes he has, and how they look at his body all distressed and in legitimate concern. Saihara cares for everyone in a fashion that he had personally unlearned to. He envies the purity in him, the timid heroism he possesses.

"Mmm, I just ai- am not feeling very well, nishishi!" Oumota forces out a giggle, and he picks up his head, resting it on his palms.

"Are you certain? You've been acting very strange all morning..." Shinguuji comments between bites of noodles.

"I'm fine, you fuckin' drag queen! Chan. Shinguuji-chan," Oumota corrects himself.

Kaitokichi slaps himself.

"Angie thinks Kokichi's sick!" the artist chirps, clapping her hands. "The lord himself knows something here is amiss!"

"Tenko knew Ouma-san was not to be trusted!"

The bickering continues and Kaitokichi finds himself unable to pay attention. Oumota sends him this knowing look and he rolls his eyes - to which he shrugs and lets out a grumble. The minutes begin to phase into each other, and soon everyone's standing, giving their dishes to Gonta so that he can wash them.

A snap judgement decision has his body moving into the kitchen. He thinks that maybe it's Momota's influence, but he isn't quite sure. As he expects, Gonta's there, humming to himself as he idly scrubs dish after dish before tucking them away in the dishwasher. Kaitokichi stands next to him wordlessly, taking another sponge that rests on the edge of the sink in his hand, pumping a dab of dish soap onto it with the other.

"Oh, hello, Momota-kun! Gonta is glad you could help!" the entomologist greets him, his face elated. Kaitokichi eyes him for a moment, noting a sort of feigned joy in the contortion of his face, a haziness in his eyes. He might just be overthinking things, he muses, and dismisses the thought.

The dishwashing continues in silence, save for the humming of Gonta, scrubbing of plates, and sound of the water pouring out of the sink. It's white noise to Kaitokichi, and again he finds his mind wandering, thinking thoughts of minimal malice, class trials, and his beloved Saihara-chan.

"Hey, Gonta, ya sure yer okay?" Kaitokichi asks him, pushing up the cover of the dishwasher.

"Ah, Gonta's trying his best but... He really does miss his friends..." the other relents, a repressed sigh escaping him.

"Aye, chin up," Kaitokichi says to him, clapping him on the back. Gonta momentarily stumbles forward, catching his balance on the balls of his feet. "I know ya tend to blame things on yerself, but it really ain't your fault. I know it's easier to blame yerself for tragedies, but ya ain't done nothin' wrong, ya know? You're keepin' everyone together in yer own way. You're a good guy, maybe a bit too good. I know they're all keepin' an eye on ya - Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, 'n Toujou."

He hasn't looked at Gonta since he began speaking, and he notices that Gonta's in the middle of a snot-filled cry. His glasses are fogged, and his lips quiver.

Kaitokichi embraces him lazily, again clapping him on the back. "S'okay, s'okay," comes out in Momota's sandpaper-y voice. Gonta cries into his shoulder, and Kaitokichi rubs stars and the few constellations he knows into his back gently.

He gives Gonta a handful of tissues, and the entomologist blows the snot out in distressed huffs.

"Sometimes ya gotta cry. Don't worry about it. If ya ever need a pick me up, just swing by," he mutters softly, sliding out of the kitchen in his galaxy-print slippers.

Before his mind can consciously register it, he's outside of the building, staring wistfully at the courtyard out of Momota's lavender eyes. An exisal or two whirrs from afar, turning slightly as if to acknowledge him before going back to doing whatever it had been before. Kaitokichi's hair sways to the wind, as does the grass that borders the walkway. He shuts his eyes, momentarily pausing, trying to think of how Momota would carry himself should he not have any plans in mind.

For once using his brain, he finds himself walking with a stride. He opens the doors that bar the casino and the hotel from sight, basking in the starlight that envelops him as day transitions to night. The day leaves him without question, and he welcomes the chaos that comes with it, letting the imaginary world the mastermind has sewn become the one he inhabits, one he lives in. The bottoms of his slippers scratch against pavement as his eyes sharpen, heart thumping as he finds himself entering the casino.

Lights and dreams and falsified hopes ring as he bursts through the door, arcade cabinets glittering with illusory prizes. He clenches his fist, and flashes a toothy grin to no one (perhaps maybe Angie's God, he thinks for a moment), and steps up to the counter.

The conversation he has with Monokuma is nothing memorable, other than Monokuma commenting that he thought he'd quit for good. Ouma knows Momota, and even if he wasn't in his body right now, he'd be coming back, cunning, soy smile as the gold tokens slide between his fingers.

Two of said gold tokens are inserted into one of the cabinets as he sits in the hard, plastic seat. His hands grip the steering wheel more tightly than they probably should, and he turns it with all his might as he picks a canary yellow Mustang. A timer shines in the corner, and a red sky overhauls an endless highway that he races upon. There are no foot controls, but he finds his feet moving anyway, enthralled by the experience of driving, no matter how fake it may be. He runs into powerups, the annoying voices of the Monokuma Cubs rambling of speed ups and multipliers. He's dripping with anticipation as the timer ticks down the final ten seconds of his turn. The word "Finish" shines on the screen, and three or four Monokuma metals pump out of the machine.

He does it again and again, getting better and better at the game with each try. He ends up with half a pillowcase worth of the metals, and he considers himself proud. Sure, they're rightfully Momota's medals, since his body won them, but he still feels a sense of pride he calls his own nonetheless.

He goes to leave when he bumps into someone quite literally.

"A-Ah, sorry..." the boy stutters, backing away. Kaitokichi's heart races.

"Shuuichi!"

Having it come out of his soul is a moment he relishes in, but the voice that it comes out in makes the moment bittersweet.

"Wait, I thought you agreed to stop gambling!" the detective notes suddenly, almost offended. Sure, he has no recollection of that, since he isn't truly Momota, but he knows acting like it didn't happen will put him in deep water.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I felt lucky today, y'know?" he groans, trying to stand up for Momota's unhealthy addiction. "Look," he then says, holding up the pillowcase, opening it to reveal a healthy amount of Monokuma medals.

"Oh, that sure is a lot..." Saihara observes, peering into the case for a moment before stepping backwards.

"Anyway, why're ya here?" Kaitokichi asks him, staring wide-eyed with his hands on his hips.

"Oh, I just wanted to get a few more medals myself..."

Kaitokichi claps him on the back. Unlike Gonta, he doesn't stumble forward, so he's probably gotten used to it.

"You really don't practice what'cha preach, do ya?" he mumbles, and Saihara replies with an adorably nervous giggle.

Kaitokichi follows Saihara slowly, matching the detective's precise steps with slow, wobbly strides. Saihara surveys the cabinets, his head turning from side to side as he scans them, seemingly unable to choose which one to play.

"Hey, I got an idea!" Kaitokichi mused, grabbing onto Saihara's shoulder. He's so tempted to hug him right there, but he has self-control, so he doesn't.

"Hmm?" Saihara wonders, looking back at Momota out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's race!" Kaitokichi yells, bawling his fists and gritting his teeth.

"D-Do we have to?" Saihara mutters, his eyes retreating from the "astronaut" to the floor.

"I mean, we don't have to," Kaitokichi relents, a heaving sigh escaping him. "But it'd be fun, don'cha think?"

Saihara puts a hand to his chin. Ouma's noticed him do it once or twice - he presumes it's a nervous habit of his. That or it's just something he does without registering it, like the way Yumeno's hands wring when she's excited, or the way Tenko reverts into a fighting pose when a man's within five feet of her.

"Okay. Let's race, Momota-kun."

"Awesome!" Kaitokichi yells, taking his hand tightly in his grasp. He races Saihara over to the machine, ignoring the detective's protests that tell him to slow down. He inserts four coins into the slot, plopping onto the plastic seat, directing Saihara to sit in the one on his left. He selects the same yellow Mustang he's selected every time, and Saihara selects a navy Lacrosse. The announcer counts down, and for the next three minutes he is gone, racing Saihara down a brightly lit highway.

They end up racing for an hour or two, before switching to other games, like air hockey, slots, and even poker. Saihara questions where he learned to play poker, but Kaitokichi simply bluffs, saying he's known since he was born.

"ARE YOU TWO STILL HERE?" a familiar voice comes over the intercom. It's Monodam, the green Monokuma cub.

Metal clanks against the ground as the tiny bear makes his way toward the duo.

"HELLO."

"Aye, whatz yer problem?! I was havin' a good time with Shuuichi!"

Monodam slaps his chest with a circular, green "paw."

"WE MUST CLEAN THE ARCADE. FATHER REQUIRES DAILY CLEANING IN ORDER TO ENSURE STUDENT HAPPINESS."

"We should probably leave..." Saihara comments. Again, he puts a hand to his chin. "Do you know what time it is?"

"THE TIME IS... 9:37 P.M."

"Harukawa-san!" Saihara instinctively says, momentarily blanching. He gives a hurried look to Kaitokichi.

"We're late for training!"

Oh, so that's what that is. The whole go out in the courtyard and stare at eachother whilst Harukawa does pushups is called "training.' From what he can recall, Momota doesn't tend to do much of anything, so its not like he has to physically exert himself.

"Ah, shit, yer right. See ya around, Mono- what was your name again?"

"MONODAM."

"Yeah. Right. Bye," the (temporarily) taller or the two groans, hand behind his head as he exits the casino.

He stretches his hands behind his head, stretching as he goes. There is no pattern to his step, and his walk is lazy, his posture poor and open. Saihara walks next to him like a normal person would, attempting to start some rather uninteresting small talk along the way. He goes silent when Harukawa is standing there, arms crossed and deadly red eyes that made Kaitokichi shiver.

"You're late," Harukawa grumbles, blinking slowly. Kaitokichi just shrugs, and Saihara lets out a half-assed apology.

 _"Anyway..."_ Harukawa starts, allowing herself to relax, if only slightly. "What are we doing today?"

Kaitokichi takes a moment to pause, trying to think of something that'll work him out enough for Harukawa not to yell at him. In the end, he goes with "pushups," and Harukawa nods, while Saihara lets out a repressed sigh.

He then longingly looks at the moon, as if it will give him some sort of answer. Some sort of way out of this school. He remembers Gonta saying earlier that the stars had looked different, and as he takes the time to look up he notices that he's right. He internally connects the dots to make shapes until a "Momota-kun?" from Saihara brings him back to reality.

"I'm comin', I'm comin," Kaitokichi whines, laying against the ground, his stomach pressed against the grass. Saihara is about three, maybe even two feet away from him, and he wishes he could close the distance and tell him just how beautiful he is. Instead he looks to Harukawa, who goes up and down like a machine, her breaths quick and structured. She's somewhere in the 40's, while he's at pushup 11.

Saihara contorts his face, staring down fiercely at the grass inches away from him. He puts all his might into pushing himself up, eyeing his elbows as they form what are almost right angles. He sweats quite a bit, but he's already at thirty.

Again, thoughts go in an out of Kaitokichi's head like clouds. Both important and meaningless things are thought up, almost as a way to distract himself from the amount of breath he's wasting, and the burning sensation he feels in his arms. After he gets to 50, he decides to give in, releasing his body and letting his arms lay flat.

"98.. hu... heh..." Saihara murmurs, his body shaking from the pressure. A few more breaths and swallows and he makes it all the way to 100, lowering himself against the ground slowly. He lets out a huff of satisfaction.

"Shuuichi!" Kaitokichi finds himself hollering without remorse. He wraps his arms around Saihara's damp, sweaty frame, and huffs into his shoulder. Saihara lets out one of those noises of embarrassment that makes his heart skip a beat, weakly hugging him back. "I'm proud of you!"

"Y-You too..." Saihara breaths, a smile forming across his lips. Hatukawa lets out a dissatisfied grunt, brushing off her skirt as she stands.

"I didn't...heh... think I'd make it..." Saihara mutters quietly, in a voice that's almost giggly. Kaitokichi looks at him with a grin, admiring his soft face and eyes and dark navy hair. Wordlessly, he grips the small of Saihara's back with both his hands, pushing him into a kiss.

Saihara flushes, remaining idle and dumbfounded as it ends. Kaitokichi goes to smile, but stops when he hears someone belching.

Off in the distance is Oumota, a hand to his mouth, purple eyes wide. He shakes with fear. Saihara and Harukawa run to meet him, leaving Kaitokichi scurrying close behind.

"S-Saihara-chan..." he mumbles, gasping for words. He soon pukes again, blood pouring from the slits in his fingers.

"What the fuck did you do?" Harukawa curses, looking to Saihara. He stumbles in place, as Oumota looks to him. He then looks to Kaitokichi.

"Y-You can't just kiss him!" he shouts indignantly. "You can't have your way with Saihara-chan!"

Kaitokichi can't help but giggle, even as he's brought down by the collar of Momota's t-shirt.

"But I'm Shuuichi's best friend!~" he says in a singsongy voice that throws Saihara off. Maki gives him a look.

"Who the fuck cares! You can't get away with gay shit like that! Be a man and be a hero like you're supposed to!" The other growls, not caring that his cover could be blown.

Kaitokichi uses the strength of Momota's body to stand up. His pupils dilate as he lets out a chuckle.

"And you're just Ouma Kokichi. You're _nothing_ ," he says, half to Momota and half to himself. "You'll never have Saihara-chan as yours, or anyone else for that matter. You think you're the chessmaster, but you're only a pawn - and your time is almost up."

He walks away at that very moment, not looking back as Saihara calls out to him.

Again, he wakes up covered in sweat.

The ceiling is white, and it faces him in a way that's no way special. There's no stars or anything else fancy on it, just the light.

He sits up, cotton scarf in his fingers as he toys with it. Momota must've left it like that. What a good boy.

He eyes the clock. 3:04 A.M.

He rolls back over, blinking his eyes. He doesn't feel tired in the slightest.

He decides he'll go for a walk, since that's what he always does when he can't sleep. He rolls out of the bed, swinging his legs over the side and yawning as he stretches his arms.

_DINGDINGDINGDINGDING_

Curiously and half-dressed, Ouma peeks out the door, only to see Momota pounding Saihara's doorbell. He keeps the door open and continues staring.

Saihara soon emerges in a t-shirt and checkered boxes. He scratches his head, and Momota mirrors the gesture.

"Look, man, I'm sorry for what happened out there, I got a fever so things've been all sorts of weird," he groans, following the remark up with a yawn.

"I get that," Saihara giggles, blinking heavily. His tired state makes him look much more low key, rather than high-strung and anxious like he is in the daytime.

"J-Just-" Momota looks to the ground, "it was spur of the moment, okay! I was really proud 'n-"

"It's fine, Momota-kun."

"No it's not!" the astronaut yells back. "I don't know about you, but I ain't a fuckin' fruitcake!"

Again Saihara giggles that sweet giggle.

"Trust me, it'll be a secret. Harukawa-san's probably just confused, if anything."

Momota sighs in disbelief.

And then, when Ouma sees Saihara give Momota a chaste peck on the cheek, he wants to vomit, but he opts to make a cheeky smile, same as always.

**Author's Note:**

> God, Ouma is a _pain in the ass_ to write. I'm hoping my weird prose managed to suffice. And just like my last long fic, the ending is super rushed lmao


End file.
